


coloring outside the lines

by itslaurenmae



Category: The Spanish Princess (TV)
Genre: A little fluffy, A little sappy, A little sexy, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, F/M, Post-Canon, and I am not sorry, the first and only crackship i've ever written fic for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:35:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27593531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itslaurenmae/pseuds/itslaurenmae
Summary: Years after the Battle of Flodden, after her exile in England, the birth of her sons and her daughters and her marriage to Alexander Stewart, Meg reflects on her colorful Scottish life.
Relationships: Alexander Stewart/Margaret Tudor, Margaret Tudor/Alexander Stewart
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	coloring outside the lines

**Author's Note:**

  * For [merrymegtargaryen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrymegtargaryen/gifts).



> premise and title inspired by the misterwives song of the same name.

Margaret Tudor Stewart is not a young Queen anymore, but she _is_ the Queen. From the bath in her chambers this afternoon, Meg thinks back on the highs and lows of her life. Those first years in Scotland, riddled with uncertainty and confusing new people and places, the death of her first husband at Flodden, the exile in England when she’d been separated from her sons, the return to this country she now called home. It had hardly been a straight line, but the path now was solid and clear, and had been for a decade.

Her life in England had been so dull, so predictable and rote compared to her colorful Scottish present. Always hushed conversations in hallways, always “pipe down, Meg” from Henry or her mother or the nurses, back in her grey English past.

Rising from the bath, she feels flooded with gratitude, even as the water drains out and despite the noise coming from the hallway. It’s maybe even due to the noise in the hallway that she’s so grateful.

Wrapped in a robe and fresh from washing, she pokes her head out of her chambers to find the commotion is courtesy of her and Alexander’s two oldest sons, Gideon and William, ages eight and six, playing tag inside. They breeze by her swiftly, curt nods and clipped “Lady Mothers” as they dart past her and down the hall. She can hear the maids calling after them to be careful, to go slower as their hollers and bright laughter echo through the passageways.

“Will! Wait up!” Gavin, age five, her and Alexander’s thirdborn son, is trailing behind.

Meg peeks further out the door to see Gavin’s dark head trotting down the hallway, the blur of his older brothers rounding the corner. He nearly trips on a rug, so badly wanting to catch up with the older boys.

“Careful, my son!” Meg offers.

“I will, mama!” He turns and flashes an impish smile as he runs past her. He’d just lost his first tooth earlier in the week and is already as handsome as his father, missing tooth and all.

Meg smiles to herself and returns to her room. She hears a commotion in the yard and is not surprised to look down to see her husband sparring with Jamie as Young Alexander looks on from the sides. Her two oldest boys - her and James’s sons. Her first boys. They were nearly men grown now.

Jamie favored his father, broad in the shoulders and forehead, with a regal brow and a flowing mane of dark brown hair. Young Alexander looked more like her, freckles on his nose and cheeks, a reddish tint to his shorter crop. And while her older boys weren’t Alexander Stewart’s sons, he’d always treated them with all the care and fondness of a father. They were, after all, half hers and half James’s - James, who’d been his cousin, his king, who he’d loved.

Jamie landed a fair blow on Alexander’s right leg, and he bore it with chagrin even as he winced, clapping Jamie on the shoulder before dropping to a seat by Young Alexander. He wasn’t as young as he used to be, but that didn’t stop him from practicing swordskill with Jamie and Young Alex. Meg smiled, pleased at their camaraderie.

After the battle at Flodden, Alexander had come to her tent in the middle of a storm and told her that he’d do whatever it took to protect those boys.

That was before they’d fallen for each other, before they’d fumbled their way into each other’s arms after a particularly intense council session about the status of her regency, before they’d married and had sons and daughters of their own. She’d had her doubts in the beginning about how much Alexander really loved her, but she’d always known how much he loved hers and James’s sons.

Meg crossed from the window and sat in front of the mirror at her vanity, beginning the long process of brushing her hair. It was something she could have had one of her ladies do for her, but today, she wanted to do it herself.

This was a rare moment, with no one needing her immediately - no audiences, no ceremonies, no prayer services, no banquets, no children’s demands, not just yet. They’d all be gathering in the great hall that evening for dinner, but in the light of late afternoon sun, she’s enjoying this brief moment alone to take in the sounds of the people she loves most.

Her youngest sons are making a second lap, and she can hear Alexander bellowing at Young Alex to come straight at him from the yard below while Jamie laughs. Even in play, even in practice, Alexander is fierce. He does not hold back, and this is why she loves him, why she loves their children and their family, the life they’ve made.

Their daughters aren’t to be heard right now - not from the room she’s sitting in, anyway - but she knows exactly where they are. Marjorie and Eleanor are with their nurses downstairs, only two and three years old.

They’re the absolute light of Alexander’s life. He holds them at every possible instance, often at the same time - with Marjorie in his right arm and Eleanor in his left. He likes to sing them silly songs and brings them thistles from the garden. “For my ladies,” he likes to say as he bows low and proffers the prickly blooms into their waiting chubby fingers. “It’s poky, like your beard, Da,” Marjorie giggles as she nuzzles into his shoulder. Alexander squeezes her and looks at Meg, a boyish gleam in his eyes as he pulls Eleanor to him. “That they are, my love.”

As Meg runs the brush through her hair, she thinks of how blessed she is for this colorful life, to be surrounded by the noise of her boys in the yard and the halls, the knowledge of her daughters in the rooms below, all of them safe and alive and home with her. And her husband, Alexander - her warmth, with love like the calm in the eye of the storm and the storm itself.

Alexander’s voice breaks her out of her reverie.

“What’re you doing?”

“I’m getting ready for the banquet.” She crosses over to him, hair long down her back, and throws her arms around his neck, inhaling his scent deeply.

“You’ll muss your pretty hair if you stay this close, woman,” Alexander responds, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist. He’s still sweaty and dirty from sparring outside. She loves to see him this way, loves the way he smells after he’s been fighting, even if it was just practice - loves when he calls her woman. James had called her hen and she’d hated it, but when Alexander calls her woman, she feels known.

“There’s plenty of time before we have to be downstairs for me to fix it,” she grins into his shoulder.

“Good, because I need a washing,” he says. He kisses the top of her head and she looks up into his kind dark eyes.

“The water may still be warm,” she says into his collarbone as she unlaces his belt and pulls his shirt out of his trousers.

He drops his scabbard to the floor and takes her hand. He brings it up to caress the side of his face before kissing her palm. “I could use your hands, woman.”

“We’ll have to be quiet,” Meg says softly. “The boys are running about.”

“Aye, we will.” His voice is low and the rugged timbre of his tone causes her breath to catch in her throat. All these years and he still knows exactly what to say and do to draw her out. She’ll never get tired of his voice.

“Go,” she whispers, rising to her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “I’ll follow.”

Alexander kisses her hand with mischief in his eyes, and she smiles at the rush of heat in her cheeks while he’s turning away and pulls his shirt over his head.

She hears him groan as he lowers himself into the tub, and while she’s thankful for all the noise that surrounds them today, she takes care to close the window and shut and lock the door behind her. Some sounds are just for them, and with her heart full of gratitude and grace, Meg joins her husband.

* * *

:: premise and title of this work were inspired by [this song](https://open.spotify.com/track/2cyfSwcJRd5ikvj34eokdN). Listen to my whole Megander playlist on Spotify here: [a thistle & a rose](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2tb5WEvYIlu3frzSOO3DsA) ::

**Author's Note:**

> This is 100% a crackship, it's barely even hinted at in the show, but I can't help myself. They'd be so good together, and after many conversations with my good friend Meg aka jeynepoole on tumblr, this idea sprouted. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and leaving kudos and comments! I'm not always quick with replies but I'll do my best! 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @itslaurenmae.


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